Next Morning's Sun
by bcbdrums
Summary: Darkness surrounded me and seemed to permeate my essence as I realized I was alone. The knowledge that there were two other lost men close by did little to cleanse my soul of the dark thoughts which had taken root, and I began moving blindly thru the fog.


This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Next Morning's Sun

© 2008 by the author (anonymous by request) in association with Daylor and Sheldon Publishing™

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission.

The author does not in any way profit from this work. All creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator.

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Next Morning's Sun

We had become separated. Somewhere within the fog, at some point during the pursuit we had lost each other. The calling of his name did not find him, and walking through the mist until I had gone far beyond the point of familiarity accomplished little beyond giving rise to my nerves.

The villain had led us far from civilization, to the estate of the nobleman who had engaged our services. We had been attempting to apprehend the rogue when he took us by surprise and produced a firearm. With our experience, avoiding his shots was a fairly mundane task. However the man escaped, using the fog and vast moor to his advantage.

I am not even certain at which point we became separated. I know that we had not been entirely together when we began pursuing the criminal, but somehow among all the shooting and shouting we were divided. We had still been within shouting distance, as I heard him call my name. Shooting distance as well, for I clearly heard shots from the weapon of my companion and of our quarry.

However after a few moments the only sounds to be heard were heavy breathing and the tramping of feet; not long after, those too were silent save my own. The folly of running blindly in foreign territory occurred to me and I stopped to survey my environs.

A dense, moist darkness surrounded me and seemed to permeate my essence as I realized I was alone. The knowledge that there were two other lost men close by did little to cleanse my soul of the dark thoughts which had taken root, and I began moving blindly yet again in an attempt to escape my own mind.

Of all the possible situations that could have resulted from the ill-timed chase, the least probable was finding one of these men again. But I have noticed that nature has a decidedly cruel streak which it chooses to play at will as it serves its purpose. In this instance, the fates had deigned that I find the criminal again.

I would have been thankful to not have to pursue him again after the inordinate amount of time this case had already occupied, however I found myself faced with the business end of a revolver. I would have felt more secure had I not spent all my cartridges earlier in the pursuit.

Even more surprised was I when the man pulled the trigger. I should not have been, having been in similar situations frequently in the past. But those times my friend had been with me.

Down I fell, with the sensation of warm blood spilling from a gaping hole in my chest and infusing my clothing. And yet through the pain that followed this initial reaction, I was still able to discern the brush of the damp air against the exposed flesh of the wound.

The villain, his deed done, had disappeared into the mists and I knew I would not see him again unless in the fiery pits of hell.

Hell…Heaven…Eternity…

I was going to die. There was no magic elixir that could reverse the effects of a bullet fired point blank into the heart. Had the shot been fired inside a hospital and the place I fell been the operating table, the outcome would be the same. I wondered why I still lived at this moment.

I opened my eyes, my first surprise being that they had been closed. My second surprise was that the blackness had begun to morph into a gray haze. The sun was rising. The great miasma that decorates the whole of England would soon be burned away by the truth-revealing light.

The sounds of gunfire floated to my ears through the mist, startling me and bringing the reality of the situation back to me; I grimaced at the fresh pain my brief movement caused me. Two shots I had heard, almost simultaneously. At least my friend had been able to defend himself. Whether he survived I would never know.

It occurred to me as I stared at the wall of fog above me that if he had been the victor in the duel, he would search for me. His loyalty was the one certainty I still had as I lay dying. I realized I could also be certain of his despair upon finding me dead.

He would blame himself. He would consider every opportunity where he could have acted differently as a possible break in the chain of events that had brought us to this point. I knew he would grieve.

Oh, how I wanted to see his eyes one more time. To see that reassuring fire that gave me cause to live each day. Did he know? That without his friendship my life would have been nothing? There is nothing I could ever accomplish that would compare to the reality of that love.

The simple movement of my arm sent spasms of pain through my body, and I could feel the blood pouring through the small, clean hole in my chest. But as long as I had breath I would make use of it.

I reached into the pocket of my overcoat and drew out a small notebook and pencil. I would leave one final word for my friend…

The villain fell, the smoke from my weapon mingling with the gray fog. How he had found me in all the vast moor where I was lost, I shall never know.

But I do know that only minutes before a single gunshot had echoed through the mists. I had not been afraid until that devil broke through the swirling wall in front of me. His presence could only mean that it had been he who fired that single shot.

Even as the man lay dying in front of me, I turned and ran in the direction from where I thought the earlier shot had come. My path became clearer as the dark vapors began to lighten and thin as the sun began its ascent on the island we call home.

We.

Not so anymore, if that solitary shot was any indication. If my fear was realized, then again I would be alone in the world, for my friend was my reason for living.

I shouted for him and received no reply. My fear rose to a panic as I darted around on the slippery grass, which I could now see without needing to kneel down. And as I looked up hints of a clear blue sky were resting just beyond the haze.

I stopped. If I could control myself for a few minutes, I would be able to see and could search more efficiently. And while I stood waiting my mind continued to race.

What if he was in pain? If I could only reach him and offer some aid perhaps there would be a chance. And if no physical aid was possible, then perhaps emotional. Would my very presence mean the difference between life and death? I should at least be able to give comfort to a dying man!

I dashed forward, my heart rising to my throat as the reality that I might lose him became apparent as the sky above my head.

As suddenly as I had started, I stopped. For there he lay, unmoving among the dewy spring grass, his chest a crimson pool.

I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. For if I did, then the image would become real, and my friend would truly be dead…

It was the hot sun upon my face that forced me to life, and I slowly moved forward…

Were it not for the stain upon his chest, I might have believed him asleep, for his face was pure serenity and his fingers were neatly laced across his middle.

I slowly went to my knees beside him, barely breathing. I shivered as a soft gust of wind rushed over the moor, sending pale waves through the bright grasses and ruffling my friend's already disheveled hair. I reached a hand down to push the hair out of his eyes, but immediately withdrew at the coldness of his skin.

The spell of my shock broken, my mind began to work again, and I pulled his hands apart to search for a pulse. My own heartbeat quickened when I realized there was none in him.

My eyes stung with the faintest hint of tears and I choked back a sob as I replaced his hand, cold and stiff within mine.

It is a strange thing, that even when you have completely lost the ability to form coherent thought, some part of the brain still functions. For while I sat staring at the closed eyes and solemn countenance of the dead man, a part of my mind urged me to again look at his hands.

I did so, and there in the palm of the hand I had earlier held was a small folded square of paper. Opening it, I saw the familiar handwriting of my friend, yet it was not as neat, nor were the sentences entirely coherent. I felt sick upon touching the still damp blood on one corner of the note, but swallowed down the nausea and focused my mind upon reading.

"_My dear friend,_

"_I don't expect to be alive when you find me. I likely will not finish this note, so I shall come directly to the point._

_It is not your fault. Only Providence could have foreseen this, and only Providence could have altered the outcome. Please do not engage in any self recrimin—"_

The word trailed off in a jagged line here, and there was a thumbprint of blood over the word. I blinked away a new wave of tears and continued to read.

"_Do not concern yourself over any suffering I am enduring. All physical pain is minor when compared to my worry over your well-being once I am gone._

"_Just live, is all I can ask. Continue to live, my friend. And know that I am eternally yours—"_

Here the writing trailed off again, and no more was to be found. But what I could infer from the words he had written was enough.

I fell back upon the wet grass and clutched the note to my heart, breathing heavily as I tried to hold back the sobs. Even alone I could not release the emotion, as if the very act would drain my soul of the memories from our years of friendship.

I stared at the blue sky and the pale clouds, still pink with the sunrise. I glanced at the moor, alive with color and a few wisps of white mist. How cruel it seemed, that such beauty had only moments before been the herald of death.

I looked at my friend, and found that I could no longer see him. I had not left the body, but that is all that I saw. It was an empty shell. The spirit of my friend had long since departed.

I was surprised that my own still remained, for the emptiness that washed over me threatened to choke the breath out of me. But it had been his wish. He wanted me to live.

So I rose from my resting place in the soft grass, and without a glance behind me, I walked away from my life and sought after another.


End file.
